The Two-Step Symphony

Blonde

They burst into the room with an urgency that only excessive alcohol could provide. The two girls were out of their skimpy clothes in seconds and wasted no time in ripping off the man’s. They quickly pushed him on his back on the bed, and the blonde had his cock halfway in her mouth before his head even hit the pillow. The brunette went to work on the blonde’s tit, sucking her nipple like a tiny penis.

The brunette then moved between the man’s legs and licked his balls and anus, jabbing her tongue into his puckered asshole.

It never ceased to amaze him what these girls were willing to do with him. Neither were exceptionally good, merely eager.

Once the blonde had his cock dripping with saliva, she quickly mounted him reverse cowgirl and started bouncing away. He felt the brunette rubbing the blonde’s clit and his dick as the blonde bobbed up and down. When his rod popped out, the brunette sucked it once and inserted it back into her friend. With her other hand, the brunette was rubbing her thumb around his anus. Now, the brunette was licking up his scrotum, shaft and the blonde’s pussy.

It made him wonder if these girls were so drunk they didn’t even realize what they were doing. So far, they hadn’t done anything he hadn’t had done before. The girls were just always eager to get a piece of him. But he did take notice when the brunette stuck as much of her tongue into the blonde’s pussy as she could with his dick also in there. Now, that was new and different. And actually, pretty erotic.

He eased his cock out so just the tip was inside, but also exposed enough that the brunette could still lick it. She did, but she also pulled him out completely and sucked him herself. She then got up on hands and knees, wiggling her ass for him to fuck her doggy-style. He was only too happy to oblige.

It was the blonde’s turn to play with their genitals. She started by only rubbing her friend’s pussy and his scrotum, then she became bold and licked his ass as he pumped the brunette. He wasn’t really sure he liked them playing with his anus, but it did feel good and he was too drunk to care. The brunette started emitting those urgent sounds like she was coming, so he pumped her a little longer until she stopped, then he pulled out and rolled onto his back.

Before he could even catch his breath, the blonde was back on him, again in reverse cowgirl. However, this time, she felt tighter, and his befuddled mind figured she must have stuck him up her ass. He wondered if she was too drunk to know, but she bounced like she didn’t care, so neither did he.

The brunette moved around to rub her friend’s pussy, occasionally sliding her finger inside. He could feel the digit against him through the narrow membrane. She pulled her finger out and licked the blonde’s pussy. When his dick slid out, the brunette shoved it back in, and then returned to licking his ass.

He hadn’t come across many girls like this who seemed into ass-fucking and licking. He could take it or leave it, and they were usually so drunk when they got to this stage, he didn’t really care where he stuck his dick.

The brunette went back to rubbing her friend’s pussy, and he had to believe the blonde’s subsequent orgasm was more the result of that than being fucked in the ass. He also didn’t know if he found it erotic when the blonde lifted herself off and sucked his cock after it had been up her anus.

The girls were like a tag team as the brunette now wanted it in her ass. She climbed on and shoved him in and the blonde then went to licking between their legs. The brunette pumped away for several minutes and then claimed she was coming again. Her vocal accompaniment seemed to confirm that. Then she got up.

Once more, without a moment’s rest, the blonde laid on her side next to him and lifted her leg, so he rolled onto his side and aimed his cock at a hole—he wasn’t sure which one—and jammed his cock in. The tightness suggested his was her asshole again, and absent any complaints, he resumed drilling. He saw the girls exchange a sloppy kiss before the brunette returned between their legs and licked his ass while thumbing her friend’s pussy and clit.

He was surprised, but glad, that neither girl had so far attempted to stick a finger up his ass. Usually, the ones that were into ass play always tried. If he was drunk enough, he didn’t care, but tonight . . . and there it was. She fucked his ass with her middle finger. But he gently reached back and pulled it out. And then she did it again. She was actually using it to control his thrusts into her friend’s anus. And then, as if she knew what was going on, the blonde came again.

He pulled out and laid on his back, spent. “Ah, my balls are about to explode.”

And the blonde once again, sucked his cock that had been in her ass while her friend’s finger was still in his ass. The brunette worked a second finger inside him, and maybe he just didn’t care anymore, but it felt alright. She also leaned in and shared his cock with her friend. And then, if she knew what she was doing or not, she hit the right spot and he started canlı bahis spurting cum, and it felt fantastic. The blonde swallowed a lot of it and allowed the brunette a taste. Finally, he felt as though his balls had deflated, so he pushed them away.

Of course, the girls kissed and swapped his jism back and forth until they swallowed all of it.

He didn’t know how long that went on because he was out like a light.

* * *

Regaining consciousness, he was immediately aware of his difficulty to breathe. His first reaction was to suck in as much air as he could, but that lasted only a second, until he further realized that there was a heavy weight pressed against his head, partially covering his face, and on the right side of his chest.

What had happened?

Brick Henry attempted to open his eyes; the right was covered by the load and he couldn’t see much out of the left, a combination of the angle and the darkness.

As it became harder to breathe, Brick decided he had to do something, attempting to move being most logical. He first tried to ease his head to the left, but this caused the object to move sending something into his right nostril. It was soft, he determined, as was the object above him. His line of vision was now clearer. The sight of the female breast, whose nipple had worked its way up his nostril, brought it all back.

Slipping completely from under the girl who had fallen asleep beside him with her tits in his face, Brick eased out of bed, retrieved his underwear from the floor and put it on. He wondered if he’d enjoyed himself with this blonde girl he’d picked up at the after-concert party. Not surprisingly, there was a brunette on the other side of the bed. He might have vaguely recalled. His dick was sore, and his ass felt weird.

Brick was feeding his ego again by thinking he had picked these girls up. The fact was, he played keyboards, sang backup and wrote songs for Bull Conroy’s band—Conroy was one of the most popular country stars around—and girls like these in his hotel room bed just followed the band after a concert hoping to make it with Bull Conroy. If they didn’t, they settled for one of the band members. Because of his role in the band, Brick was usually second choice.

It was the same story after each performance: the band partied for a couple of hours to unwind, until Bull made his choice of girls. Then the rest of the group hooked up with those remaining. Of course, by that time, everybody was so drunk that the women were just bodies to get off on.

The San Francisco concert and party last night were special not only because they were the last stop on the current tour, but this was likely to be the last tour for some time. After six years of spending forty weeks a year on the road, Bull was going to produce some newcomers, maybe record another album, and take a break from touring.

As far as Brick Henry was concerned, giving up touring for a while, if not forever, was fine with him. He was burned out, tired of living out of a suitcase, sleeping in strange beds with women whose names he’d never learned (fortunately he hadn’t caught anything yet). It was time for him to return to his ranch in southwestern Colorado to reevaluate his life and the direction he should now take.

The ranch was the only thing Brick loved more than playing music and he couldn’t wait to board the train at 9:00 a.m. this morning to take him there. Trains were another thing he enjoyed immensely, but seldom had the opportunity to use. That was going to change also.

He reached for his watch to see how many hours . . . seven o’clock! Damn! Brick had two hours to get to the train station. He quickly showered, and while dressing and hastily packing, he attempted to awaken his bed partners, but neither barely stirred. Five minutes later, he shook each one a final time, and when they still did not awaken, he pulled out a felt-tip pen and across the blonde’s bare chest wrote: “Had to go. Hope we had fun. Brick.”

In another five minutes, the keyboard player was out in front of the hotel waiting for a cab. One appeared instantly, and he was off.

During the ride, Brick reflected further on the change in his life. Slightly more than a year ago, he’d first started thinking about giving up the road, devoting his time to the ranch and maybe hiring out as a studio musician to pay the bills. He actually played other instruments, such as guitar, bass, and could even hold his own on drums. But he’d made the mistake of discussing it with Bull Conroy, who talked him out of it. However, as easily as Bull had accomplished that, it was probable he hadn’t really been ready to quit.

But now, Brick was truly ready to settle down—and that included a serious relationship with a real woman. He was tired of these one-night stands with nameless groupies. There was little satisfaction in them anymore, minor sexual fulfillment at best, certainly no long-term emotional attachment. At this stage of his young life, he needed a lasting relationship with a woman. And he couldn’t have that forty weeks a year on the road.

The cab bahis siteleri delivered Brick Henry to the station just in time for him to board before the train departed. As it pulled out, he made his way to his bedroom compartment—which he booked because it was just over twenty-four hours to his Grand Junction, Colorado destination. Directions from the porter made his bedroom easy to find—or so he thought.

The woman sitting on the couch caused him to recheck his ticket. This was definitely his compartment. Had he stupidly blabbed to some starry-eyed groupie last night that he was taking the train? Opening the door again and taking a second look at the woman, he decided he had not. She was too elegant, definitely classy, absolutely not the type to chase after the likes of him.

“We may have a problem,” Brick announced upon reentering. “My ticket says—” he was momentarily stunned by her incredible deep, blue eyes “—this is my compartment.”

She reached inside her purse, which was on the seat beside her. Brick used the opportunity to eye her up and down. She was attractive, though not gorgeous, and reeked of refinement. Her cream-colored, form-fitting dress boasted a shapely body, including nice-sized breasts and curvaceous hips, but it was not a knock out figure. However, it was appealing. Her short, light brown hair complimented her tanned complexion, and he thought she had a pretty face.

Holding her ticket out, they compared the two. Being identical, she commented, “We positively have a problem. I’ll summon the porter.” And with that, she pressed a button beneath the window.

“Mind if I sit down?” Brick asked.

“The compartment is temporarily half yours.” She slid down toward the window.

Brick dropped onto the couch with a moan.

“Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

“Rough night,” he answered. “Then I nearly overslept and missed the train.”

“Well, that would have solved this problem.”

There was a knock on the door followed by an announcement that it was the porter. The woman explained the problem and the porter took both their tickets and left to check it with the conductor. Before leaving, he asked if the current situation was uncomfortable to either, and the lady reiterated that the compartment was still half Brick’s.

When they were alone again, he commented, “You’re a brave lady to allow someone who looks like me to stay here.”

“So far you’ve given me no reason to be concerned.”

“While the room is still half mine, I’d like to use the lavatory.”

“I guess that’s okay. Are you a cowboy? Did you fall off your horse or something?”

Brick supposed it was a reference to his standard western attire. After using the bathroom, he explained, “Actually, I’m a country musician. Last night was our last concert for a while so we had a party. I’m with Bull Conroy’s band.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of Bull Conroy. Unfortunately, I don’t particularly like country music.”

Hell, Brick thought, won’t get her that way. But maybe music was the key. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Classical. In fact, I work in that field.”

Washing his hands now, Brick opened the door and looked up from his towel. “I’m afraid all that long-hair music is not for me. What exactly do you do?”

“I work for the New York Cultural Arts Society. I travel frequently in search of promising young talent to study in New York.”

The porter popped in with an apology about the ticketing error and to say that the conductor was looking into alternate accommodations. He asked if they minded the inconvenience a while longer and advised that their dinner tonight would be on the house.

“This may be presumptuous of me,” Brick said nervously, “but I’d enjoy it if we could eat together.” As different as they were, something about her appealed to him and he wanted to find out what it was.

“You want to dine with me?” Her tone was surprise, not condescension. At least, that’s how he perceived it. “Whatever for?”

“We have so much in common.”

“We do? What?”

“We both hate each other’s music.”

She started laughing heartily. “How can I refuse logic like that?”

Chuckling also, Brick instructed the porter to make reservations for two at eight p.m. He then joined her on the seat again. “If you’re going to have dinner with me tonight, I think you should know my name is Brick Henry.”

“Christine Cannon.”

They shook hands; he marveled at the softness of her skin.

“Is Brick a nickname?”

He nodded. “Byron Richard Henry. I hated my first name as a kid—still do. I always wanted people to call me Rick. Instead, they teased me and called me a di—. Well, anyway . . . “

“That’s okay,” Christine offered. “I know what a dick is.”

Brick felt his ears turn red with embarrassment. “So, I started to sign my name B. Rick Henry, and a teacher asked who Brick Henry was. You can probably guess the rest.”

She nodded. “My friends call me Chris, but I have no cute story as to why. It’s rather obvious.”

“Then you have no cute story to get tired of telling.”

“I guess it would bahis şirketleri get tedious.” Chris smiled. “So, where are you from?”

“Texas, originally. But a few years ago, I bought a small ranch in Colorado, just north of Grand Junction. That’s where I’m headed now.”

“Did you grow up on a ranch?” As she asked this, Chris re-crossed her legs and adjusted her dress. This movement, coupled with the slit up the side of her dress, gave Brick a quick glance of her leg up to her thigh. It really turned him on, and he was amazed that such a simple, innocent act could have such an impact on him. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t purposely flashing him skin like so many of his groupies did.

“You still with me, Brick?”

“What? Oh sorry.” He quickly tried to recall her last question. Accomplishing that, he gave her an answer. “Yeah, my folks have a spread in central Texas, not far from Waco. We raised horses and cattle. I used to be a pretty fair roper. Still a good rider though. They passed on a couple of years ago. The ranch is still there. Guess I need to do something about it, but just haven’t been able to bring myself to go there. I been thinking about breeding horses on my . . . I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have let me ramble on like that.”

“Oh, I didn’t mind,” Chris answered, her dazzling smile continuing to hypnotize him. “I’ve never met a real cowboy before. It’s rather interesting.”

“Well, that makes us even. I’ve never had a real conversation with a high society lady before.” Brick shrugged. “Although I have met a few who thought they were high society.”

“I’ve never really thought of myself that way,” Chris said with a chuckle.

“Did you grow up on a ranch?”

Her chuckle progressed to a laugh. “No. Our family . . . estate . . . is in Scarsdale.”

“Ah, the estate in Scarsdale,” Brick repeated without ridicule. “And did you go to your public high school prom?”

“I went to a private girls’ school.”

“You never went to a dance?”

“I went to my debutante ball.”

“What kind of bars did your date take you to on Saturday nights?”

“I didn’t go to bars. I went to the Met—Metropolitan Opera, the symphony, ballet.”

Chris nodded. “Okay, you’ve made your point.”

“I just wonder why, with your background, do you work?”

“I enjoy it. There is tremendous satisfaction in helping young people realize their full potential.”

Brick nodded. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t trying to make a point or put down your way of life. Like I said, I just never met a high society lady—at least one that would talk to me.”

Once again, the porter appeared with another apology for the foul-up. He further regretted having to say that there were no more compartments available until they reached Salt Lake City tomorrow morning, but he could offer a seat in coach and a partial refund until then.

“Well, don’t that just beat all!” Brick exclaimed in anger. No one said anything for a minute as he gave the porter a violent look. Finally, in a sharp tone, Brick added, “I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Well, sir, the compartment is actually yours,” the porter advised returning the tickets. “It seems your reservation was made first.”

“What?” Chris Cannon bellowed, eyes afire.

“No, no,” Brick countered, calming down. “I couldn’t do that. The lady keeps the room.”

Her expression instantly transformed from anger to surprise. “Why, Brick, that’s very nice of you.” She was quiet for a moment, her face indicating a thought occurring to her. “If you would like to stay, I wouldn’t mind.”

It was his turn to be surprised. “Do you mean it?”

“Brick, I expected you to take the porter’s head off when he told you about the compartment because that’s the image we get of cowboys like you in New York. But you’re not like that at all. In fact, you’re very nice. I’ve enjoyed chatting with you and I could enjoy it more.”

Brick responded with a laugh.

“What’s funny?” Chris asked, now frowning.

“You’re not at all like I expected you to be either. You high society types come across as thinking your shi—, uh, thinking your . . .”

“I know what shit is.”

“Right. Well, thinking it don’t stink. Not you, though. You’re—” he shrugged, “you’re a regular girl. I’d love to stay.”

“Now that that’s settled,” the porter said, obviously bored by the exchange, “should I reserve the compartment after Salt Lake?”

Brick shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe by then it won’t be necessary.” When Chris frowned, he smiled. “Just teasing. No, I get off at Grand Junction. Not that much further.”

After the porter departed, conversation remained at a standstill as each took the opportunity to study the other now that their brief acquaintance had entered a new phase.

Brick had spent time with a considerable number of women he’d had little interest in simply because they were convenient. Being with Chris Cannon was convenient. She was a woman he would have normally just given the once over and passed on because of a preconceived notion of upper-class women. But Chris was that rare exception to the rule. She fit the basic mold, but only superficially. And whatever this hidden quality she had that he couldn’t define was, it was causing him to act differently, something that both scared and pleased him.

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